


Anguish

by Phoenexus



Series: Defector [4]
Category: Jackscepticeye - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Bombs away, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenexus/pseuds/Phoenexus
Summary: When Jack returned, the room’s atmosphere shifted. His head hung low and his steps were weighted. He stumbled. Mark stopped in his tracks.Mark, with a bullet wound in his leg, finds himself in a new surrounding completely unsupervised since his odd and reclusive savior left in a hurry. Welp, time to snoop around.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to formally apologize to ReviChan. I'm so sorry my dude.

Mark stood there watching the slamming door. He remained where he was awkwardly in this house that wasn’t his. In a town that was unfamiliar. In a land below his own. Somewhere he shouldn’t be. 

He felt so out of place. Guilt gnawed at his stomach like an angry demon inside of him.

He went to go get a glass of water to calm himself down. It was refreshing as it slid down his dry throat. He placed it back on the counter and stretched out his arms. 

Mark wandered around, taking in his surroundings. It was all pretty much how he remembered it from days ago. The same flowers, slightly more faded, the same photographs, different angles maybe, and the same blue walls.

Blue, that’s how he felt in that moment. He hoped the bomb hadn’t been dropped. He hoped it wouldn’t be finished since Mark wasn’t there. He desperately prayed that Tyler had scrapped the plan and moved on to a different one for the time being. Better yet, Mark hoped that Tyler was suffering in the same way he made Amy suffer.

Did he want Tyler dead? That was a weird thought. The two had known eachother since they were kids. When Mark had heard that Tyler was going to be working close to him, he had been ecstatic. How can someone feel so close to another person and then in a matter of a few weeks hate their guts so intensely? 

Mark scrunched his eyes closed, thinking of the best ways to make him suffer. To make Tyler feel the same anguish Mark had when he found fragments of his once beautifully alive girl.

He stopped himself mid-thought. No. Revenge wasn’t the answer. Tyler would get what was coming to him sooner or later, but it wasn’t something to obsess over. That would kill him in the end, only make Mark feel even worse. He had seen too many men consumed by their past demons and hatred for the rebels. They had twisted up, lost their humanity in more ways than one, some even enhancing themselves with technology to make them super human beings. Even the Above, who liked any able-bodied people to go against the rebels were taken back. It was illegal to enhance oneself to such a degree. It made a person almost a god.

Mark shivered and took a gulp of his water. He wasn’t going to disappoint Amy in that way. Not in a million years.

Mark found himself wandering around the house aimlessly. It was a tiny house, four rooms and a hallway closet where there were some extra blankets, towels and ammunition for the guns. If he need to, Mark could run over there and protect himself and all of his kind host’s property.

Mark made a left turn, expecting to find himself in his guest bedroom, but instead had wandered into Jack and Wiishu’s.

It was a white room with random painted stars scattered about it, no doubt done on a whim or out of boredom. It might have been done recently since there was a bucket of yellow paint still by the side of the bed and a dried paintbrush. It rested on a pile of old newspapers that had been splattered with the same color. the bucket label claimed was the color was Sunshine Yellow. Amy’s favorite color.

Once again, struck by sadness, he found himself envying Jack. Though he had never met Wiishu, Mark could tell that she was good to him. After all, the room was pleasant and neat. One side of the bed was clean, orderly and put together nicely with a small self-sewn cactus stuffed animal laying against a flower throw pillow.

There was also a little cactus and succulent pair sitting together on a bedside table. Mark crouched down to read their labels. The succulent was named Sam and the cactus was named Booper. Mark grinned and returned to his feet.

Everything was so sweet and perfect about the life Jack had here in the Below. Despite anything Mark had been told about life in the Above, this was superior. In fact, as far as Mark had seen, the Below as far better than the riches of the Above. They might’ve been poor and violence stricken here, but they had emotions and love and soft sunday mornings with their loved ones. What Mark would give to go back in time with Amy and spend their days in a cottage like this on a lazy summer afternoon.

Mark’s foot hit something under the bed lightly when he turned to smooth out the covers. Curiosity drove him to reach underneath and pull it up.

It was an old black shoe box with torn edges and a tape label. Jack and… the other name was crossed out with angry scribbles. On closer inspection, Mark could see that the box had been stabbed several times with a knife. It was scratched up to a point where it could never be displayed in public again without several questions and suggested anger management. It was odd. It was such a depressing box in this light, positive room. Mark’s interest rose further and he popped off the lid.

Inside Mark shuffled through several photographs that had been well-preserved. Whatever caused Jack so angry at the box hadn’t been taken out on these snap-shot memories.

Mark picked one up and saw a picture of a younger Jack without the piercings and green hair grinning from ear to ear. He had a bloody nose, but otherwise he looked innocent and untouched by the world around him. He was maybe sixteen or so and was sitting looking up at the camera with a mixture of embarrassment and pure joy.

There were more of Jack in his younger years. He stood there at the age of maybe ten with a large family in a clean shirt and nice shoes. With the slightly ticked off expressions of everyone, it looked like this was a forced family photo.

There were others with the family members. Jack stood dramatically in a green feather boa with his sisters both wearing blue and orange tutus, standing on stage as if they were giving a show.

In another, he was angrily wadding in a pool with everyday clothes on. Clearly he had been thrown in or was pushed. One of his brothers stood on the edge, laughing and pointing at an exasperated Jack. The person taking the picture had shoved his thumbs-up of approval in the photograph. No doubt that was his other brother, probably laughing his ass off also.

Mark felt weird, going through Jack’s stuff without his permission. However, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the box and dove deeper into the piles of forgotten photographs.

Jack was a little older towards the bottom. He still looked more innocent than he did now though. Mark noticed that these photographs were mostly ruined. Crinkled at the edges, pen marks sometimes crossing another person out. There even was a photograph completely torn up at the very bottom. Mark looked over one that wasn’t completely destroyed.

There Jack stood with his arm over another person in a drunken state. No doubt it had been his first drunk experience and he looked like he was about to flop over onto his face. But Jack’s eyes were light and Mark could almost hear him laughing. The guy Jack was leaning on was turning to face Jack. He looked like he was about to give him a kiss. The desert where they stood outside was crowded with a hazy group of people in the golden, blue and orange lights.

There were more pictures of Jack with this person or of this person alone. Mostly happy, or dumb or cute and romantic. Most of the romantic ones had been ripped in half or crossed out with an angry red pen.

Mark dropped the photographs back in and the shut the lid decisively. This was none of his business. There was a reason it was hidden under the bed and had been destroyed and ruined. Mark put it back in it’s place and left the room, careful to leave it as it was.

He felt dirty. Wrong for invading his host’s personal space. At the same time, it was interesting to learn that Jack wasn’t always in this perfect relationship or was this strong, independent man with icy eyes. He had been average, innocent even once. He hadn’t always carried a gun in the back of his pocket.

– ✴ –

When Jack returned, the room’s atmosphere shifted.

At first, the door opened slowly and Mark rose to his feet, almost running to Jack to ask him if everything was okay. To maybe pull him into a hug and get him a mug of coffee. Mark hoped that he was about to meet the famous Wiishu. 

But Jack walked through the door and shut it softly behind. His head hung low and his steps were weighted. He stumbled. Mark stopped in his tracks.

Slowly, Mark approached Jack. Mark said nothing, though he wanted to desperately.

Jack wouldn’t meet his eyes. His entire body was shaking and he looked so very lost. Everything prickly or goofy about him had faded into nothing. He had no personality, just a lost and confused expression on his face.

“What happened?” Mark finally dared to ask. Jack finally lifted his head and opened his mouth to find an answer.

His eyes were red and there were tear stains on both of his dust covered cheeks. His lip was quivering slightly, barely resisting the urge to fully sob. He blinked back the tears still in his eyes. Jack couldn’t answer Mark’s question.

Mark knew that and just pulled the other guy into a large hug. Jack was so tiny, so small in this moment. Instead of pushing him away, Jack only responded by finally breaking down. With his hands tucked into his chest, Jack’s figure shook with every sob and tear that fell out. He gulped in air as if he couldn’t breath correctly.

Mark just remained still, an anchor into reality. He tried to be as comforting as possible, stroking Jack’s head lightly and even shushing him at times. He whispered things like “it’s okay” and “I’m here.” Jack only acknowledged Mark’s comforts with a nod or a roughly whispered “thank you”.

The two stand there for a long time.

Jack finally broke away steadily, his shaking coming to an end. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the ground.

Mark placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’ll get you a something to eat, okay?”

Jack responded with a bob of his head. It’s almost in slow-motion or in a dream like way. Jack’s eyes are glassed over, fuzzy and unfocused.

Mark took an apple in his hand and was about to toss it at Jack, but stopped himself. He rubbed it thoughtfully and then took it to the sink to wash it. Then he walked over to Jack, who had sat down on the couch. His eyes were beginning to droop closed.

“Do you want to eat this later?” Mark asked patiently. Jack paused for a moment and with fully closed eyes, nodded. Mark placed the apple on the table and sat down in the nearby chair. Their roles had flipped in such a short amount of time.

It wasn’t long before Jack had curled up and had fallen into a rhythmic breathing pattern.

Mark wondered if he should leave Jack there or if he should carry him back to his room. After a moment of debating internally, Mark found himself scooping Jack up into his arms and taking him into the back and into a proper bed. Jack was too exhausted to even stir as Mark tried to be as careful as possible, but still stumbled around.

This action was almost too familiar. As Mark looked down at the sleeping figure and began to tuck him in like a child, he was reminded of a distant person.

Amy. Mark’s heart still ached to think of her.

Mark felt terrible, worse than he had earlier. He had caused this after all. If he had told Jack earlier about the bomb, maybe Wiishu would still be alive and Copperston wouldn’t have been blown to smithereens.

Leaning against the bed just below Jack, Mark sat and placed his head in his hands. He sat there for a long while grieving.

– ✴ –

Mark woke up on the floor of Jack’s room with a blanket thrown over him. Mark rubbed his eyes and rose to his feet to check if Jack had woken up already. He was still asleep, but this time with a faint smile on his face hugging the stuffed cactus from Wiishu’s side of the bed. He must have woken up in the middle of the night and adjusted himself accordingly. Maybe he even threw the cover down for Mark.

Mark left the room for coffee. It had become a tradition it seemed in this house to at every waking moment to drink coffee. It was a coping mechanism. Mark decided to make a mug for Jack too. It would make up for the times that he had made Mark a cup when Mark was still recovering.

In terms of his wounds, Mark was feeling much better. In the past 24 hours, it had become easier to walk on his wounded leg, even put some weight on it if Mark was feeling risky. His broken rib hardly bothered him. Mark had already ripped off most of the band-aids to see that the cuts and bruises were beginning to fade nicely.

He hummed as he took the coffee beans and commanded the small coffee making robot on the counter Jack had to make the black coffee.

It was odd, Mark found himself thinking again. That Jack didn’t have more technology in this house. It was obvious that he made money, being a rebel had those kind of perks. However, Jack and Wiishu didn’t flaunt it whatsoever. In fact, they seemed to be mostly cut off.

Without any robots to help out or speakers to alert them of what was happening around in the Below, their room was off the grid. The only pieces of tech around that made the room seem somewhat updated was the large tv and the robot making the coffee.

Mark continued humming as he drummed his fingers on the edge of the counter, taking in the smell of sharp coffee. He went to search for something to put inside, like cream or sugar.

The sound of footsteps and a yawn caused Mark to turn around. There Jack stood, still looking lost and out of sorts. He had thrown on a comfortable looking grey hoodie due to the coldness of the morning.

“Making you a coffee,” Mark notified him. Jack nodded and went to sit at a bar stool, resting his head into his arms. He looked at Mark, watching every little moment with intensity, as if something was on his mind. Jack’s eyes were still slightly reddened and crusty from tears and sleep. Mark continued to hum.

Jack took the coffee when it finished. He looked down at it for a moment and then took a gulp. Mark watched as he placed the coffee down and appeared to perk up slightly. In fact, he even looked Mark directly in the eyes.

“Thank ya,” Jack warmly said. “For the coffee and dealing with my shit. I appreciate it.” His voice wasn’t as energized as usual, but he managed to give Mark a glowing smile and gulped his coffee once more.

“It’s not a problem,” Mark assured him. “The least I could do.” Mark still felt guilty in the back of his mind and as he turned off the robot, he caught Jack looking at him. Jack read exactly how Mark felt.

Mark knew how he must’ve looked. Battered, bruised, broken. He was cleaned up slightly so that he wasn’t covered in blood, but still a wreck. He had bags under his eyes no doubt and his face was paler than it usually was. Maybe his brown eyes weren’t as friendly or welcoming as they once were.

He saw the understanding, the true understanding, in Jack’s eyes.

Mark also saw Jack’s gears turning. Jack stared into his cup as if he were running something through his head, eyes darting back and forth and his lips moving slightly. Mark wanted to ask what he was thinking about, but thought it best to let Jack share if he wished.

Jack did.

“I got an idea,” Jack spoke as he placed the coffee cup down with a slight crash. Jack hardly noticed the sound as his energy began to grow. There was the old Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack has an idea…and is suddenly in a better mood?
> 
> On that note, have a great day!


End file.
